by Pike, Leslie
And so I find myself in the middle of a dream. Never in my wildest fantasies did I think I’d be celebrating the Fourth of July out of context, enjoying a lunch in my honor with a king and a queen, or falling asleep under an African sky.
But it’s the prince who impresses me most. His calmness, the quiet joy that lives inside, his ability to cope with what’s happening with grace. And for a hundred other reasons. I think I’m falling in love.
Chapter 15
Zan
“All of a sudden I’m afraid!” Belinda whisper screams.
I put an arm around her shoulders and pull her closer, accidentally knocking her sun hat half off.
“We’re safe. I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way.”
She straightens the hat and her eyes dart to our three armed guards and two guides.
“I guess six men and fifty feet should be enough between me and the meat eaters.”
Her nervous laugh gives her words no weight. She’s scared, but I know her mood will change if the lions show.
We stand on the plateau looking down at the clearing below. This is where they come almost daily to sun themselves and look over their territory. Sometimes one female, sometimes with her mate. I’ve yet to see any cubs. But I haven’t been in over a year. It could be a complete bust. There’s rustling in the tall grass bordering the clearing, and I see them move aside as something passes through.
“Here they come,” Embodi says in low tones, not turning to look at us.
His eyes are on the movement of the grasses. The men take their positions. Belinda’s nails dig into my forearm but her eyes are trained on the brush.
“Stay quiet,” I say in soft tones.
First two big golden paws and a majestic face peek out, followed by the body of the male lion. He makes no moves indicating he’s seen us. But I know for sure he’s smelled our presence. Behind him comes the female, her gait slow and easy. Their eyes are trained on the clearing.
I look to Belinda whose face is transformed. The fear has become wonder, and there’s actual tears in her eyes. She mouths the word, “Ohhh,” and squeezes my arm.
The lions begin to settle in the center of the clearing, after sniffing out the right spot. A kind of a dance happens between them right before setting their bodies down. Each faces a different direction, back haunches almost touching. The breeze is strong and it ripples their thick coats like wheat in a field. The female lifts her head to catch the wind.
“They’re beautiful, right?” I say.
“I’ve never been so taken by a sight. They’re magnificent, Zan.”
We stayed watching for just fifteen minutes. That’s when they both caught sight of us and became too intrigued. When the male got up and began to saunter our way was when we decided it was time to go back to camp.
* * *
When I first suggested we take a couple of days for a photographic safari I didn’t expect such an enthusiastic reply.
“Yes! I’d love to do that! I need to borrow your pith helmet!” she teased.
It’s turned out to be everything I hoped it would be, for me and for her. Just watching her expression when seeing an animal in the wild would have been enough. But add to that sharing the sunrise and sunset of the day. Beautiful. Tonight I’m taking cues from her favorite movie. With Belinda my motivation is genuine. I want to please by recreating something that touched her.
The fire’s in the middle of camp. It crackles and pops. The starlit sky, so clear in the darkness of the surroundings. The large comfortable tent we will be sleeping in tonight and the full course dinner the guides are preparing. All scenes from the movie. Glad I thought about lighting, which could have been difficult had it not been for the lanterns. They cast beautiful patterns on the ground. I’m certain my team is cussing me out under their breath for having to lug all these extras.
Tomorrow morning’s surprise will either be a hit, or a dismal failure. I’m betting on the former. Hope the clothes I laid out for her fit. It was the best I could do to match Meryl Streep’s wardrobe at the camp scene. When she sees my commitment to the idea, it’s going to be good. I’m in it with her. This Robert Redford get-up is cool. I’m channeling the adventurer his character was in the film. The dark shirt, khaki pants, and sturdy boots selling my intentions. But the best prop is the old victrola perched to play my selections for the night. The soundtrack from the movie.
A delicate hand draws back the tent flap and she steps out. For a few beats I have a hard time putting words to feeling. I’m stunned by her beauty and the perfect picture of femininity that stands before me.
“Belinda. You look amazing. Better than amazing.”
She smooths the pockets of the ankle-length skirt and pops the collar of the white shirt. A wide African-print shawl wraps around her shoulders and flat high boots complete the look. Blonde hair is piled loosely on top of her head. Strands escaping confinement, making it look like she’s from another era.
But what’s most striking is the lack of makeup. Her face freshly washed and naked in the moonlight. I love it. There’s a natural blush to her cheeks, and her rosy hued soft lips match.
She looks my outfit over. I do a slow turn. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re the loveliest man I’ve ever known,” she says, taking me in an embrace.
Cue the music. I nod to the guide, and he places the needle on the record. “Out of Africa” rises in the night and lands in our hearts. Belinda closes her eyes and takes in the music, the moment.
I take her hand in mine and she wraps an arm over my shoulder. I feel delicate fingers rest on my neck. We dance slowly, quietly moving around the fire. Words would only interrupt what’s passing between us.
At the end of the song, she looks up into my eyes.
“You’ve ruined it, you know,” I say, quoting Robert Redford.
“Ruined what?” She smiles, not skipping a beat.
“Being alone.”
Our steps come to a stop, and she locks eyes with me.
“If you say anything right now, I’ll believe it.”
“Then I love you,” I say, going off script.
Her beautiful eyes soften. “And I you, Zan. I love you.”
I pull her close, closer than ever before. “Don’t know how I’ve lived till now,” I whisper in her ear.
* * *
She loves me. Unbelievable. Sleeping in my arms, her soft breath the only sound inside the tent. But outside, Africa speaks, and I want Belinda to learn the language. I’ll be the teacher. It’s plain, she connects with this place and senses the magic all around. It’s obvious to those who feel deeply.
Tonight I’m doing what I’ve done almost nightly since I was a child. For a time it was my only link to the past and to my parents. My father taught me to listen to the night. He said nothing is heard in isolation. All the sounds mix together, and it’s fun to untangle them as we fall asleep. Nature’s lullaby. What exactly makes each evening’s song? What about tonight’s? I want to remember this special night’s soundtrack forever.
The incessant song of the cicada beetle mixes with the frogs’ conversations. That’s the background music. Off in the distance a trumpeting elephant brings a smile to my face. At some distant riverbank hippos fight, their voices unmistakable.
And then the eerie sound of the Nightjar, smooth and rhythmic, is accompanied by creepy hyena calls. Those used to freak me out when I was a young boy. Now I appreciate every sound, sight, and smell of the land. Right before my eyes shut the night out, I hear a final voice. A leopard’s throaty, powerful warning to a foe.
I’m deep inside a dream when the unexpected rain wakes us both. Tap, tap, tapping lightly at first, then stronger and stronger.
“That’s a lovely sound,” she says, lifting on an elbow.
I move the strands of silky hair from her face.
“I’m glad we have transportation. Walking out of this would have been a bitch. Did you have a good time on your first safari?”
<
br /> “Oh yes. But my favorite part had nothing to do with majestic animals or photography.”
“Really,” I tease, “and what would that be?”
The poke in my chest precedes her explanation.
“You said you loved me.” She smiles.
“Did I? You sure?”
I’m suddenly under her body and the long white nightgown that’s twisted in the sheets.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t. Otherwise I might have to punish the bad boy. I have my ways, you know.”
“Sounds promising.”
She playfully pins my wrists down. The fact she’s not strong at all means nothing. I’m her captive.
“You’re such a girl,” I say, chuckling.
“What exactly does that mean? Looks like I’m the one holding you.”
I roll her over with no effort. Now her wrists and arms and legs are under my command. Taking both wrists in one hand, I pull up her nightclothes. Doesn’t look like she’s hating giving up the pretense of power.
“I guess I was fooling myself,” she laughs.
The smile she wears and the look in her eyes says she knows exactly how to please me. Doesn’t matter both of us know I’d do her bidding, follow her lead, say yes to whatever she desires. I want her more than I’ve ever desired anyone or anything.
I start kissing her neck, delicate wrists still in my grasp. My free hand moves over heaving breasts with hardened nipples. Oh yeah. My mouth finds them and takes everything I want. Her hips rise with the sensations.
“Oh baby,” I say half whispering.
My dick is pressing against her pussy and I’m grinding slowly. She spreads her legs, then closes them and stretches, then does it again. Jesus Christ. That’s good. My breathing quickens and hers does too. I loosen my grasp and her fingers go to her mouth. The lips I love to kiss. She pulls the bottom one down just a bit, showing me exactly where my dick would be happy. But first I want to kiss her like she deserves. Even in the morning her breath is sweet.
We kiss and all thought of control leaves me. We’re far beyond that kind of thinking. She’s in my arms, I’m under her spell and she mine. We’re side by side, her on top, me on top, rolling in the deep. Few words pass between us. They would be superfluous.
It’s all feeling now, senses sharpened by the feel of her skin, the smell of our lovemaking, the sight of nipple and clit, ass and dick. Her face. It’s as sexually stimulating as any of the more obvious choices. When I’m looking in the blue pools that are her eyes, or the tender pout of her lips, I’m taken away. There’s a paradise only she and I occupy, and that face takes me there.
In the background, the rain builds its fury. With a thunderous crack we belong to the thunder.
Chapter 16
Belinda
“Does this work?”
I’ve modeled at least six different outfits for Zan to approve. Usually I am very adept at choosing my wardrobe. I’ve got a good sense of style and comportment. But this is out of my comfort zone. An official visit to one of Prince Zan’s charities wasn’t something I’d anticipated.
“I liked the last four choices,” he says slightly annoyed.
“What does that mean? This is number six. You don’t think this would work?”
I’m boring the prince. But he’s showing remarkable patience. Till now.
“Belinda! I wasn’t counting. It’s not that big a deal. That one! The one you’re wearing is perfect!”
I’m about to protest when I see his eyebrows knitting together.
“Okay. Okay. I’m going with this,” I say lacking commitment. I was noticing the skirt might be a little short.
My eyes look up to see he’s watching and he’s noticed my slight hesitation. “That one! Let’s go!”
I give in to the inevitability and grab my purse.
He guides me to the door with a hand behind my back. Yeah, I know what you’re doing, man. There’s no chance for second-guessing now. We walk outside his house and to the backseat of the waiting car. Getting in, Zan speaks to his bodyguard who sits in the passenger seat up front.
“Morning. Anything I should hear about?”
“No, sir. All’s quiet. Except I haven’t heard back about Ms. Banks’ seating.”
“Text them. I don’t want an embarrassing situation when we get there. Make sure you’re straightforward.”
Zan raises the glass divide for our privacy.
“What’s that about?” I say as the car pulls away.
“Nothing, really. I want to make sure they know I’m bringing a guest. No big deal.”
“I don’t have to sit right next to you, if it’s a problem.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Yes you do. I won’t have it any other way.”
From behind the car comes honking. Over and over. Someone’s trying to get our attention. Zan looks back.
“It’s Kwai.” He knocks on the glass and motions for the driver to pull over.
“Wonder what this is about? I know he doesn’t want to come, I’ve already asked.”
The car comes to a stop and Kwai pulls up next to us. He gets out and approaches as Zan opens his door.
“What’s up?”
There’s a serious look on his brother’s face. One I haven’t seen before.
“Just want you to know you may want to return tonight instead of staying as planned. I just left the house. Dad’s not feeling well.”
Zan’s concern is real. “Do you think I should stay? I mean, I’ll cancel if it’s serious.”
Then he reads his brother’s expression. He’s questioning how much I know, and how much he should say.
“Belinda knows. Speak freely.”
Kwai rests a forearm on the hood of the car and speaks candidly. “I wouldn’t cancel. The people have been waiting for your visit for months. But I’d cut the next day’s activities out and come home when you’ve finished your visit. Dad would be pissed if you cancelled everything.”
“How bad is it, brother? In your opinion.”
“I think the hourglass is almost empty. It’s not going to be today, but it’s coming faster than we were told it would. Just my take on things.”
Zan thinks things through for a few moments, then meets Kwai’s gaze.
“Okay. Thanks for the heads-up. We’re going to be returning tonight. Call me if there’s any change.”
Kwai nods and leans down to speak to me.
“Trial by fire, heh?”
There’s no right answer for that, so I simply acknowledge the truth with a nod.
I know this day means a lot to Zan. Going back to the Transkei where he was raised and where he was abducted holds so many mixed memories. The charity was established five years ago, but this will be the first time he’s visited. He had been the private benefactor for all those years. But when the news of who it was leaked six months ago, the people wanted to acknowledge and honor the man. He’d made such a difference in their children’s lives. You can’t blame them.
* * *
All the way to Port Saint Johns in the Transkei, we traveled lush roads. Even at this time of year some green lingers on bush and tree. I’ve seen so many unfamiliar plants and insects and birds. Zan has taught me many new names. The sapphire sea was beside us from Mozia to our destination, whipped up waves pounding a rocky shoreline.
Turning from the dirt road onto a wide swath of pavement, the clinic comes into view. When I look at Zan, he’s smiling.
“It looks good, don’t you think?” he says.
“It’s so much bigger than I thought it would be. Look at the people!”
Up ahead on either side of the front double wide entry, stands the welcoming crowd. At least two hundred children of all ages clap and wave. It looks like their parents are standing behind them in a solid block. Some throw kisses.
I don’t know why I’m the one getting choked up. I had nothing to do with anything. But it’s touching my heart to think Zan is responsible for helping these people. When we pull u
p in front of the crowd, Chudda gets out first. He comes around and stands beside the car, just by Zan’s door.
“I’ll be getting out first. It’s protocol. I’ll reach back for your hand.”
Now my mouth goes dry. Dry as the Sahara Desert. “Okay. Got it.”
Driver gets out and opens Zan’s door. As he steps out, the singing starts. The children’s voices fill the air and rise to the clouds. What a beautiful melody. I don’t know if it’s a Zulu or Xhosa song. The language is foreign so its meaning is hidden to me. But the feeling is clear. They sing it with a spirit that tells me everything I need to know. It’s a message of gratitude.
Zan reaches back for me and I take his outstretched hand. Stepping out into the dappled sunlight I’m surrounded by the warmth of the happy children. It’s as if the sun had never shone brighter. As the song ends Zan is walking toward them. I wait by the car, just smiling and waving at the friendly faces. It feels like something spiritual is happening.
I watch Zan with the people his charity has benefited. Children who have. For the first time in their lives, reliable access to health care. Zulu children, Xhosa children, together. He hadn’t told me he spoke
Xhosa, but the clicking sounds coming from his mouth have made a group of children laugh. How charming is this scene. I reach back in for my cell and take a few or ten pictures.
A tall thin middle-aged woman reaches for Zan’s hand. They shake, and the woman touches her heart and says something I can’t hear. He turns and gestures for me to join him.
“This is my guest, Belinda Banks,” he says, putting an arm around my waist. “Belinda, this is Dr. Roberta Wushka, the director of the Hope Clinic.”
We exchange pleasantries and she leads us through the perfectly maintained grounds to the entry. A tour of the clinic results in a clearer view for me of what kind of charity work Zan is involved in. No child is turned away for medical care, and those who can pay are given reasonable time to do so. A circle of donors, both corporate and private, fund the charity with yearly donations.
